Can You Save Me?
by Je dois t'avoir
Summary: Matthew is a homeless teenager who happens to end up on Ivan's front step in the middle of a snow storm, now it's up to Ivan to look after him. Will they be the death of each other, or will they help each other in when no one else can?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First FanFic eva! THIS IS AN AU~! I just love this pairing... ~sigh~ GO RUSCAN! BTW this is an AU! With a smarty Canadian and a bad ass Russian. You have been warned...**

DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING JUST THE DAMM PLOT BUNNY INSIDE LE HEAD THAT HAS SPIDER WEBS.. O.O

A lone teen let loose a string of colorful curses as he stalked home in the violent snowstorm. He had reason to, after all, it was only the first week of December and there was zero visibility, about a meter of snow, and a temperature of approximately thirty below zero. As expected to be in Moscow.

This teenager had hair that was a pale blonde thanks to all the snowy weather always held in Russia. He was wearing his school uniform including a long grey coat that goes along with his scarf that his dear sister gave to him. He was actually the schools feared kid, he seems to have a dark aura around him every time he smiles towards anyone also his height seems to scare others away and all the rumors going around about him torturing and killing people, and the fact today was the last day of school before winter break, Ivan Braginski was alone once again.

The twenty minute walk from the school to his house felt like forever and a half to him. 'Great,' he thinks to himself, 'now I'm gonna have hypothermia'. Once again he brings his numb hands to his lips in vain attempt to warm them. Although Ivan was sixteen he had only turned so a few months back rendering it impossible for him to have his license yet.

At long last he made it to his house and marched up the steep driveway, only slipping twice. As he neared the porch steps he realized something was there that shouldn't be. His eyes widened. "дерьмо!" Ivan cussed out as he dashed over to the figure all the while thinking; 'Don't be dead! Don't be dead!' Pulling back the man's hood a bit he searched for a pulse. 'Thank you' he thought, as he pulled out his cell phone, numb fingers forgotten in his hassle. His mind halted though as his finger hovered over the "1" before he snapped the phone shut. The hospital would not receive this man, not without the man's credit card or a credit card from the man's family, which Ivan was not.

Now Ivan had two options; he could leave the man to die or he could bring him inside and hope he would recover. Ivan was a lot of things; a loner, a rebel, a bully, technically a gang member if others look at it, overall he is what some would call "terrifying". Despite this Ivan wasn't really all that bad, he did what he had to do to try and make some friends but it always seems in vain. So Ivan couldn't just leave the man to die on his own front lawn.

Fishing his keys out of his bag he unlocked the front door and threw his bag in. Then he returned to the frozen man and proceeded to carry him into the house. To Ivan's surprise the man weighed about as much as his school bag had, times two.

Once inside he set the man down and locked the door only to realize, "Great, now what?" It wasn't like he saved lives on a daily basis heck, he didn't even know how to cope with the weather. This was Russia for peat sakes, not the sunny side of the world, he didn't even own a snow shovel! Looking down at the man again he realized how much frost clung to him, turning him purple. Ivan checked for a pulse again, just to ensure the man was still among the living, he was. After brushing most of the snow off him, Ivan carried the man upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms before placing him on the bed.

He glared at the offending figure on the bed, he looked more comfortable there than he had on the floor but he still looked freezing cold and he was getting ice all over the bed. "Well, I have to remove his boots." Ivan decided talking it out to reinsure himself. So after dealing with the frozen laces, the old work boots were tossed on the floor. "дерьмо his feet are blue." In all honesty, the boots were clearly several sizes too big and the man wore no socks, what was Ivan expecting? Picking up one foot gingerly Ivan's first thought was how surprisingly clean and small they were. His second thought was how they were probably frozen prompting him to examine the gloveless hands to find them in a similar condition.

Quickly dashing out of the room Ivan took off his own shoes, grabbed a bowl of warm water and a dishcloth from the kitchen and a pair of socks from his room, before returning to the frozen figure. Hoping he was doing the right thing, he stuck the cloth in the water, wrung it out and proceeded to warm the man's feet with it. When the man's feet were no longer blue Ivan placed his own too large socks on them. He continued to warm the man's hands in the same manner.

Ivan stood back and admired his work. "Ha! Beat that hypothermia!" But his joy was short lived, the man was still unconscious. Checking the time Ivan realized it was quickly approaching five and called his work to tell his boss he wouldn't be coming. After seven full minutes of being verbally blasted through his phone Ivan hung up and looked at the man again.

"Why aren't you waking up..?" Perhaps his body was still cold? Yeah, that was it. Ivan moved to unzip and remove the man's tattered jacket. "W-what? A... kid?." Yes, before him lay a boy who appeared no older than thirteen, now only in ripped jeans, a baggy T-shirt and Ivan's socks.

Leaving the room Ivan refilled the bowl with warm water before returning to the child. For an hour Ivan worked on defrosting the boy until all the blue was gone and he felt warm. Lifting the boy to place him under the covers Ivan realized how light he was and figured he needed a warm meal. Could he feed him soup though if he wasn't awake? Did Ivan even have any soup? His sisters weren't suppose to be home until at least 2 months which left him to get all the food for himself.

Marching back downstairs to the kitchen Ivan raided his own cupboards in search of some soup he could feed the kid. He had beef stew and miso soup, but both of those were no good seeing as they needed chewing. Finally he landed upon something. "'Vegetable Broth', why do I have vegetable broth in my cupboards?" The box was dusty but its content was still good seeing it had yet to reach its expiration date. So following the instructions Ivan prepared a pot. When it was done he poured it into a bowl and grabbed a spoon from the draw.

Careful not to spill, the teen carried the broth up to the boy who was just as Ivan had left him. Placing a finger into the bowl Ivan was pleased with the temperature. Placing said finger into his mouth he mused quietly to himself, "This isn't not half bad." Now however he had to get the broth down the kid's throat. Placing a small amount of liquid on the spoon he poured a few drops into the boy's slightly parted lips. It seemed to have worked.

Repeating the process a third time Ivan realized how long it would take to empty the bowl. Not to mention the entire pot downstairs, which he had planned on feeding the kid. Maybe he could have it himself, after all it was cold and rather late. His attention was brought back to the present when the figure bolted upright coughing violently. Doing so almost resulted in knocking Ivan and the bowl of broth off the side of the bed. When the coughing fit had passed the most emotionless blue violet eyes bore into deep violet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Dun own nada~!**

**A/N: Ahh... i just had to upload it~ it was in my mind the entire night! Oh well~ And thanks for all the story alerts.**

A miniature staring contest went on for several minutes in which time Ivan's emotions were scattered all over the place. Should he break eye contact, speak, maybe the boy wasn't right in the head? On the other hand he was Ivan Braginski and he wasn't about to lose something as simple as a staring contest to a kid. But said kid's eyes were blank and something about them was nerve wracking. After several more minutes Ivan finally lost it, "What?" Aforementioned kid gave a semi-amused snort. "So you can talk."

"Da, I speak."

He seemed to have gotten bored quite easily and went straight to the point. " Where are my things?"

"What are you talking about, little one?"

"Please don't act like you don't know; I woke up in a strange place, with you shoving liquid down my throat, my coat and boots are missing, presumably it was you who removed them. I repeat, where are my things?" So the little one was a smart aleck, well two could play at that game.

"Da, I removed them but I don't see why I should give them back to you. If I give them back that means you want to leave. What kind of person am I if I let a little kid out into a snowstorm? A kid who clearly can't take care of himself because you ended up on my front step practically dead."

Ivan was certain that this would receive some form of emotion from that blank face but, it remained as passive as ever. Did this kid feel anything at all? The kid gave a light 'humph' as if amused before retaliating. "You may be older than me, even if that is the case it is clear my maturity and intellect far surpasses that of your own. Also, I will inform you that I am sixteen therefore I hardly fit the term 'little one'. Now if you will return my things to me I may leave this place and be out of your way."

A laugh left Ivan's lips, he not even trying to suppress it. No expression crossed the other's face, it was as if he was expecting this sort of reaction. Ivan laughed and laughed and laughed until his tear ducks started to water. When he finally calmed himself his attention returned to the kid. "Now you're trying to pull my leg, there is no way you're the same age as me, little one!"

"Yet, I'm more mature." He sighed and pulled the blanket off his body not even shivering at the cold. Holding out his hand he demanded, "My things."

"Okey, even if you were sixteen I just saved you from dying from the cold. I'm not letting you go back out there. How about you finish the broth, get some rest, wait for the storm to pass, and then be on your merry little way. Oh and how about a thank you because I saved you from certain death."

"I didn't ask to be saved. If you will not get my things I will get them myself."

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed but as he did he began coughing again. Ivan sighed when he saw bright red contrast with the boy's pale skin. He for once knew what to do, he calmly went out of the room and grabbing a glass of water and wet cloth from the bathroom he went back. When returning he found the pale boy was still coughing up blood. Setting the glass and cloth on the nightstand he patted the boy's back until the coughing fit was over.

The boy seemed drained of energy after the episode so Ivan took it upon himself to wipe his mouth and hands with the cloth before coaxing him to sip some of the water. "My things." He managed.

"No, you are sick, I am not letting you go out there."

"All the more reason to be rid of me. My things."

"Listen, if it makes you feel better your coat and boots are right there against the wall," he told him pointing a long slender finger over his shoulder to the general direction he had tossed them, "just... relax okey?" The boy shook his head no. "Stop being a stubborn brat." Ivan growled out as his large hand forced the other back down on the bed and held him there for a second. However, to Ivan's surprise, he was not met with resistance. Must be really exhausted if he isn't putting up a fight. 'Good actor if even I didn't realize it.' Ivan thought to himself.

In a moment of kindness Ivan pulled the blanket up over the small form. He let out a small sigh as he realized the boy was still glaring blue violet at him. "I'll get you something to eat in the morning, you can have a shower, and then if the storm has let up I'll let you leave if you want to that badly." No response. "Good night, little one." He gave a half wave over his shoulder as he carried out the broth and closed the door behind him.

Heading downstairs Ivan emptied the bowl in the sink, washed it and put it away. Reheating some of the broth on the stove and making some rice in his rice cooker Ivan made himself some dinner. The kid wouldn't try to leave in the middle of the night, would he? No, he was probably too weak. Ivan's food lay in front of him as he thought and by the time he was back to the present it was fairly cold. Too lazy to reheat it Ivan poured some soy sauce on his rice and ate up.

Again being lazy Ivan threw the dishes in the sink not bothering to attend to them. He looked at the time before sighing. It was almost quarter to ten and he was exhausted. Even on a school night you wouldn't catch Ivan going to bed before eleven and tomorrow being the first day of winter holidays, normally he would be going to bed as the sun came up.

After taking a hot shower and putting on some flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt Ivan started his night time routine. He tossed his school uniform in the wash bin to wash later. After putting on his ridiculous pair of fuzzy slippers that he had received from Natalia for his birthday, the ones he had acted like he had detested, they being yellow and prints of sunflowers on them, but he actually cherished them, (after all Ivan loved the color of the sunflowers and anything to do with anything sunny and the fact they kept his feet warm) he marched downstairs again. He made sure the doors were locked and the lights off then went over to the thermostat and cranked the heat up to twenty-eight degrees Celsius, a pleasant sleeping temperature. He then proceeded to pour himself exactly half a cup of milk, which he heated in the microwave for exactly forty-six seconds, before removing it and stirring it five times counter-clockwise. Carelessly he tossed the spoon in the already full sink and headed back upstairs to his room. Hopping under his warm covers he drank his milk before setting the glass on the bedside table and turning out the light.

A few minutes passed and Ivan was drifting off the warm milk already having an effect on him. Right before he slipped into a content slumber he thought to himself, Hope the little one doesn't cause trouble. Then he drifted off to pleasant dreams. Little did he realize, trouble was the least of his worries.

R&R por favor! ^-^


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you everyone who has reviewed, favorited and alerts to this story! And yes I know about th thing but I was sorta lazy to explain that and so yeah ehehe~... Thanks for telling me though~! Anyway thanks for Le support! On with the Le Story~! (WARNING: a lot OF OOC BUT ITS SORTA UNDERSTANDABLE BECAUSE OF HOW MATTHEW IS TREATED. Poor lil Canadian~)**

Matthew's POV

I woke up with a headache but it was nothing I wasn't used to. It was way too hot for me to even think about going back to sleep. Glancing outside I realized it was still dark. Good, the strange Russian would still be out cold and I could make my escape. A few minutes later, after retrieving my belongings, taking off the giant size wool socks, and making the bed (I guess that was my act of kindness) I silently exited the room.

To my horror the house was incredibly large. Not mansion large, thank goodness, but still large enough that I had difficulty finding the stairs.

Carrying my boots in one hand and using the other to hold onto the railing, I cautiously proceeded down. The seventh step creaked loudly under my weight, I held my breath for the next few seconds listening for any movement. The Russian probably slept like a log but, he being sixteen, his parents or guardians could potentially be different.

The thought about others living in this house had yet to cross my mind until now. Can you blame me though? I had originally woken up with a freakishly tall scary ass Russian, who took satisfaction in calling me 'little one'', hovering over me, in a strange place, I had quarreled with him, then my illness had kicked in. All I wanted now was to escape, my mind was still foggy with sleep, it was dark and, I myself always being alone, did not really consider the fact someone else could potentially be living here.

Luck was on my side as i didn't hear anything and no lights were turned on. I allowed myself a slight sigh of relief at that prospect. I traveled down the rest of the stairs successfully no noise omitting from under my feet. The cold tile beneath my feet felt like a god send. All I had to do was find the door.

Some others, whom I had briefly acquainted with on the streets, might be questioning my mental state, should they be in my shoes. Winter is the worst for us, for several years I silently count as people around me are swept away due to the cold and only their rotting flesh is left behind. Now here I am, in a stranger's house. Said stranger strange and creepy, but not attempting to do me any bodily harm. He has, more or less, offered to feed and shelter me until the storm, which is still raging outside, comes to pass. He bestowed upon me a spacious and warm room for the night, without asking for payment.

What most would emphasize is the following: Now here I am, in a stranger's house. Said stranger rude, but not attempting to do me any bodily harm. He has, more or less, offered to feed and shelter me until the storm, which is still raging outside, comes to pass. He bestowed upon me a spacious and warm room for the night, without asking for payment. However, I'm not most people; in fact I am so very different from them. Where these people would feel the need to express gratitude, I feel the need to exercise caution.

The rich refer to the homeless as 'trash', many times before I have been called that. Trash. I despise the very conception of that word. The only people who are trash are those who don't use their brain, like the Russian still upstairs. Those insignificant, self proclaimed 'beings', who go gallivanting around, either mindlessly or with their precious emotions, their 'hearts'. The teenager upstairs is obviously a mindless one, after all, who would let a complete stranger into their house without thinking of the consequences? I could have pulled a knife on him, stolen everything he has, lit his dwelling on fire.

This was taking too long. I must have been traveling in circles, I had found many doors, but none led outside. It was getting lighter, both a blessing and a curse. At least I could now make out the rooms I wandered into and out of, rather than meandering blindly.

The wooden floor switched to carpet and again and I could make out an outline of a coffee table, two couches, a television, and some other things. All of this means I had wandered through one of the three entrances to the living room or den. Again. For the umpteenth time. The house was not that large and I had tried many approaches to escape, from walking in a straight line, mapping out the confine in my mind, and walking along the outside walls of the place. I would remain calm and I would get out of here before the mindless violet eyed stranger woke up.

I couldn't help but to start panicking as I saw a light upstairs turned on. I couldn't have woken him, I had virtually made no sound, and it was still semi-dark outside! Too late did I realize my error, and such a pathetic error it was. I like to believe I have been on the streets for only a short period of time, that I can still be civilized, that I am not detached from the world. When facing reality though, I have been on the streets for a little over twelve years, the last time I have been in any building, not abandoned, is three and a half years, and before last night, the last time I had socialized to anyone, was ten months.

So what was my vital and pathetic error? Well, besides forgetting how houses are laid out, windows. Yep, pathetic. I realized the storm outside was still raging, bringing in more snow than ever. I also recognized the fact that it would be darker outside than a normal winter day. What I forgot is that when you are in a building on a low level, snow can stick to windows, almost completely blocking out light. It could very easily be mid day, not that I spent that long wandering, but due to exhaustion I could have woken up at eleven.

I did not trust that stranger so I made a dash to the nearest window, ready to jump out of it if need be. I cannot say I recall what happened fully. Panic, a mad dash, slipping, and ending up in a pile of limbs and overturned chairs, I didn't know what I slipped on, it felt like a piece of paper. Something was trapping me and blocking my view successfully at the same time. I could faintly make out the sounds of rapid, heavy footfalls approaching, the blood pounding in my head blocked out the noise to a great extent. I hurt, I couldn't think straight, I was dizzy. Did I hit my head? A light above me is flickered on, momentarily blinding and confusing me further. My vision was going darker though with every second rather than improving, I must have been losing consciousness. At least the weight was being removed from my chest.

Hmm. I don't think I'm awake, I cant feel my body. Maybe I died? Well, that would have been pathetic. Maybe I'm dreaming, or this whole fiasco was all a delusion in my head. Knowing my luck this is a stage between unconsciousness and waking up and I'm about to open my eyes to that creeper, again. Death sounds more appealing. Should a light appear I am going to turn the other way. Yes, that sounds more like me. Clearly the last few hours I had behaved extremely uncharacteristically. I claimed I would not but, it appears as if I behaved as my own brother, Alfred, would have. Maybe these actions have led to my untimely demise as well.

To die as trash...

**A/N: Yeah I know this is a bit OOC but come on think about it. Matthew is probably going through hell and just hiding it all behind his sweet smile! I hate how no one ever notices. TT-TT CURSE THEE!**

**Anyway! Please R&R~!**


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